


Risks of Routine

by shishooter



Series: More on DR0 [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Zero
Genre: Gen, Genderqueer Character, Mostly Platonic, neurological headcanons/attempts to figure out how kamukura is possible, neuroscience, trans kamukura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishooter/pseuds/shishooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yasuke Matsuda has been dedicating everything to saving Junko Enoshima from her own brain. Izuru Kamukura has been trying to escape his, and believes Matsuda can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risks of Routine

_The pounding is near constant. Part of him wants to hide under something, pull at his hair and scream to drown out the pain. Part of him knows this will bring no relief, and is considering thousands of possible solutions._   
_He was told to wait for her, though. Just wait and everything will be okay- but he’s been waiting for a month, and still she hasn’t returned. Slowly his hyperactive brain empties of substance, desperately seeking any sensation or new thought to grip onto. Maybe he’s thought of everything already._   
_He needs the pain to go away, though._

I can’t remember the last time I showered. Probably a few days ago, but time seems to blend together now. I sniff the collar of my shirt and realize that I’ve been wearing it since the last time I showered- whenever that was. Ew.

  
Without my girlfriend to bug me about dressing nicely, I’ve let myself go to my natural state of physical neglect. Sleeping and eating have been low priorities, and my work has consumed the majority of my life.

  
Yawning, I stand up, stretching my arms up to the dimly flickering lights. The whole lab is bathed in a late-night unearthly lime glow, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s quiet and I prefer to work at night because of this.

  
The door to my lab is locked, so I rummage around for clean clothes in a pile of clean laundry and other items necessary for sustaining human life. The nurse keeps bringing in these things- ask the girl for help a few times in neurosurgery, and suddenly she becomes my best friend. Or, just something else for her to take care of. For someone who studies brains, I really can’t figure people out very well. 

  
I strip off my shirt, turning on the emergency lab shower. Going back to my room would be far too much work and I really don’t feel like talking to my SHSL Therapist roommate and getting thoroughly psychoanalyzed. Someone probably thought it would be educational to have the neurologist and the therapist room together, but usually we just fight about the stupidest things.

  
Dirty clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor, I step under the tepid water. It rapidly cools and I can’t bring myself to care much about the now frigid water. It would take far more time and effort to get hot water in here, and the lab’s water system has always been iffy at best and infuriating at worst.  
The shower is conveniently tucked in a corner of the lab, partially shielded from the bulk of the research space. I shower quickly, then puts clean pants and slippers on, holding a clean shirt gingerly between two fingers.

  
There’s no mirror in the lab, and I’m glad of that right now. I doesn’t want to see my sleep-deprived face and hair that’s grown out far too long. I don’t really want to see who I’ve become without her, and this is how I deal with her absence- just by ignoring it and everything that’s wrong with the situation.

  
This is one of the main reasons why I don’t get along with his roommate, who keeps trying to analyze why I love her. I’m well aware of her behavior and motivations, but- I keep hoping there’s something I can fix. She only feels happiness through despair, and I think I can fix her if given enough time. I want her to be happy- it’s one of the only things that matters now.

  
And somehow, all my work is leading up to that- to fixing my girlfriend. She’s the only person that matters to me now.

  
Coming back into the main lab area, I abruptly notice a silent person sitting on a lab desk, almost motionless and dark against the yellow green lights. The figure doesn’t startle me- it’s difficult to do that, and he or she is clearly not hiding. The figure watches me, and clearly has been since I came into view.

  
“Get out of my lab.” I say, because I barely care that someone’s in here and don’t care at all that I’m not wearing a shirt. Out of good will, though, I pull the shirt on and leave it unbuttoned.

  
“I came to find you.” the person replies, voice soft and without inflection. Urgh, great. There were way too many strange people visiting my lab lately, and it was making it difficult to be alone and busy.

  
I can’t immediately tell the person’s gender, which is slightly disorienting but captures my interest. Very long black hair obscures most of their face, angular and distinguished primarily by red-toned eyes. At this hour of the night, the intruder is wearing a suit, and this strikes me as funny for some reason.

  
My mouth twists wryly. “You look like a freaking manga character.”

  
The suspicious intruder says nothing. I wait for a moment out of a sense of decent manners, before insisting again that the intruder leave my lab.

  
“I apologize for disturbing you.” the intruder says after a moment of silence. “But I require your help. She made it clear that you were close to her, so I thought with your talent that it would be best to go to you.”

  
I frown, a gnawing suspicion growing in me. “She?”

  
“Junko Enoshima.” the intruder moves a tiny piece of hair out of their face. “My name is Izuru Kamukura.”

  
Damn.. Junko’s murder machine in my lab. Mukuro and I have been walking on eggshells trying to follow their instructions, and suddenly Kamukura himself thinks he can just walk in and mess up all Junko’s plans. This is not going to work, and I don’t want to incur Junko’s wrath later.

  
“You were specifically supposed to stay in the old building.” I say warily, backing away slightly from the long haired boy. “Why are you here?”

  
Kamukura gestures to his head with one hand. “My headaches are interfering with my mental capacities. There were seizures for a while, but I think those have stopped now. I want your help in diagnosing and treating these headaches.”

  
Truthfully, I’m really curious about the academy’s pet project. All I know about Kamukura is that he’s one of Junko’s pawns, and somehow has multiple talents. I also know that Kamukura is supposed to be a secret and that few people even know the boy exists. I didn’t know until Junko saw it fit to fill me in on some important facts about the student council incident.

  
“I can try to help, but you have to get out of here by the morning.” I mutter. “Or else she’ll get mad.”

  
Kamukura blinks. “That’s fine.”

  
“Alright, then.” I sigh, walking over to clear everything off the bed and spread a sterile sheet over the top. Kamukura follows, red eyes unfocused and posture strangely perfect.

  
“You can sit down here, if you want.” I dig around for a notebook to write notes in. “I need to get some idea of what’s going on in that manga head of yours; what do you know about what’s been done to you?”

  
Kamukura sits down stiffly, like an oddly polite guest at a formal event. Across from him, I lay across two lab chairs, propping my feet up on a table.

  
“I don’t remember when I was ordinary.” Kamukura starts. “But I have existed as I am now for almost six months. It’s been grueling.”

  
“How so?”

  
He doesn’t hesitate. “Everything gets boring. I constantly run out of material to think about, of things to do, and my mind folds in on itself and gets restless. Being able to think faster or with more information doesn’t give one more to think about- just better ways of analyzing events.”

  
I take notes in purposefully terrible handwriting, so no one else will be able to read my work.

  
“Hm.” I say simply, leaning forward slightly. Kamukura doesn’t seem emotionally affected by his words at all, and is just watching me- for permission to continue? Waiting for another topic?

  
His presence isn’t notable, like he’s another computer or piece of equipment in the lab. It’s strangely comforting, human contact without having to talk.

  
This goes on for several minutes, Kamukura silently watching me, then I clear my throat.

  
“So you were- transformed by the idiots in charge of your project, and you don’t remember anything before that. What did they do to make you think like this?”

  
Kamukura considers this for a moment. “Your papers on manipulating long term potentiation influenced their work considerably. Your ideas were mainly to strengthen alternative neural pathways, correct?”

  
I lean back a bit farther in my precarious seating position. “Yes, but lately I’ve been working more with removing the links between neurons fired together- reducing previous long term potentiation. Long term depression of cells works for a few days, it seems Do you know where Junko is now?”

  
He nods almost imperceptibly. “You weakened connections in her hippocampus, didn’t you. You weakened the paths to her memories.”

  
“That’s basically it, yes.” I blink a few times. “How did you know that?”

  
“Your notes and other information I collected.”

  
“Tch. That’s creepy.” I frown. “My notes are private. What do you mean about my papers, though?”

  
The light flickers slightly, and Kamukura sighs. “Do you want me to fix the lighting in here? Your papers were the groundwork for my ‘transformation,’ as you called it. It was my birth more than anything else. My inception, creation.”

  
I must not be reacting enough, because Kamukura leans over, hair almost touching my leg. “Imagine if every neuron in your brain was primed for long term potentiation. The slightest sound sears into you, becoming something you’ll never forget, no matter how long you get. Faces are etched permanently into your mind, the imprint of the world is carved in and leaves you hurting. Not fearful, though. Fear and other emotions mean little without a past or future.”

  
He pauses, then leans back. “I remember everything about a week or so. It was painful at first, then I adjusted. The large collection of talents I have learned were taught then, and the pathways strengthened when my neurons were hyperstimulated.”

  
My eyes widen slightly. “Y-yes, that would be possible. Then your memory…”

  
“Not rerouted like hers. Damaged.” Kamukura waits for me to process the new information, then I nod slightly.

  
“Alright, fine. So you obtained talents through chemical changes in your brain and they messed up your memories. Why’d you come to me, though?”

  
He hesitates. “The damage is incomplete and is causing me difficulties. I have a few memories and fragments left, and since the student council incident my mental state has been deteriorating. I need you to prime my brain for long term potentiation again, then I can get rid of what’s hurting me.”

  
“Your humanity.”

 

  
“Essentially, yes.” Kamukura says flatly. “Will you help me?”  
I run my hands though still-damp hair. “Why the hell would I help you destroy the rest of your memories? Doesn’t sound like there’s any benefit for me.”

  
“Would you want Enoshima to awaken to this mess? To me in an unusable state and you refusing to help out of contempt? She would get angry.” Kamukura looks up at me through his hair. “It’s up to you, Matsuda.”

  
The long-haired polite bastard is really making me angry now. “What would you know about Junko, huh? That’s not her. Whatever you know about her is just some show she puts on, and I’ve known her for much longer.”

  
“You’re confusing the discussions.” he says. “Why she would get angry is irrelevant. She still needs me.”

  
“Does she?” I ask, voice quiet and apathetic. “Like it even matters, though. None of her plans will matter once I fix her.”

  
Kamukura tilts his head, hair spilling from another direction. “Fix her? What’s wrong with her?”

  
“She’s not- human. I swear, she used to be, and it’s still there somewhere. But somehow her brain is wired so only despair makes an impact, and she can’t help but to follow her addiction. It’s not her fault.” I reply vehemently.

  
“Why not make her happy?” he asks, meeting my eyes. He looks- innocent almost, despite the level tone of his inane words.

  
“Because she’s wrong, and there’s nothing to be gained from harming oneself and others.” I frown. “I’ll help you, but then you have to leave, and don’t come back here.”

  
The lights flicker again in the silence between our words.

  
“Excellent.” he says finally. “I’ll bring everything you need tomorrow night.”

 

* * *

 

 

I lock the door to my lab and push a chair against the handle. If anyone comes in, they can learn how to deal with disappointment. For the first time in a while, I can’t sleep when I try to. Already sleep-deprived, this serves to frustrate me, and I spend most of the day lost in my own thoughts.

  
Kamukura is a damaged human. I’d fix him if I could, but everything is piling up and becoming impossible to fix. I can’t save everyone and Junko is my first priority. Kamukura is none of my business.

  
He just looks so lost and though I don’t care much about his emotions, I find myself intrigued by his brain. I want to see how it works and what makes him act the way he does. It’s a bit puzzling to me, I’ve only felt this with Junko- I want to solve Kamukura.

  
He appears in the night again, somehow getting through the barrier without my paying attention. I’m tired and mildly angry as usual, but he seems to be exactly the same as last night.

  
“Hello, Matsuda.” he says, voice quiet. I pull out the surgery cot and start preparing the area around it.

  
“Why do you want to do this? Why not just work on fixing the damage instead of making it worse?” I ask, not particularly caring what the answer is.

  
He tilts his head to the side. “I don’t want what I’ve lost. There’s no reason to want it back- I can do many more things now, and don’t miss what I can’t remember.”

  
“That’s stupid. You can’t judge the worth of what you lost if you can’t remember.” I offer, spraying alcohol disinfectant on every surface around the surgery area.

  
“Why can’t I?”

  
I don’t dignify this with an answer, and instead start pulling on gloves and surgical gowns. “Strip. And for the love of God, pull your damn hair back or something. Geez.”

  
“You can reopen an old scar if it would be easier.” Kamukura says, drawing back his hair. It reveals a series of pink scars on his forehead, going into his hairline.

  
“They didn’t shave your hair before surgery?” I ask, disgusted by the lack of medical safety here.

  
He shakes his head slightly. “Do you have a rubber band? My hair was very short a couple of months ago.”

  
“And it just grew in six months? Bullshit.” I scoff.

  
“Not exactly. During the period of hyperstimulation, I realized I could influence my appearance through manipulation of RNA and epigenetics. To prove this, I altered the pigments expressed in my eyes and hair, then grew my hair out. I can’t access that depth of control now.” Kamukura pulls off his stupid suit jacket, and being the caring individual I am, I slide an empty cardboard box over for him to put it in.

  
“That’s really ridiculous. Humans don’t make red eye pigment.”

  
Kamukura looks at me, expressionless. “Birds and many other animals do. It’s just a matter of altering chemicals slightly. I’m surprised you’re not familiar with this.”

  
“I’m not the goddamn SHSL Bird Watcher.” I frown. “Why’d you grow your hair out though? It gets in the way of everything.”

  
He shrugs slightly. “I’m not sure why I like it this way. Perhaps it was long when I was younger and it’s subconscious regression. Perhaps it’s an emotional safety blanket.”

  
“You can’t psychoanalyze yourself.” I groan. “What’s next, you talking about your secret love for your mother?”

  
“Many Freudian theories seem to come from Freud’s own insecurities.” he says, tossing his shoes in the box.

  
I bite my lip to stop from smiling. Wry humor about psychology? Far too view people have the ability or the inclination to use such humor.

  
“If you’re wearing contacts, I’ll be disappointed.” I tell him, tossing over a hospital gown. Kamukura has his back to me, unbuttoning his shirt. For some reason, his actions hold my attention, and I have to purposely look away.

  
Then he’s in front of me, barefoot and shirtless. He’s thin, not in a natural way, but like someone who hasn’t been eating nearly enough for a period of time. A dark exercise bra doesn’t entirely conceal the presence of tissue on his chest, but Kamukura doesn’t seem to care that I’ve noticed this.

  
“Leaving my pants on is fine?” he asks, pulling on the gown I gave him.

  
“Yeah.” my voice is softer than before. “If they stay away from your head.”

  
He turns around, a shadow of an expression crossing his face. “That would be difficult, Matsuda.”

  
I say nothing as he lays down, then I set up the stereotaxic apparatus to hold his head in place and help me find the injection site. “What are we putting in and where is it going?”  
“A solution I made, consisting of excitotoxins and the neurotransmitters needed for long term potentiation. Injection into the hippocampus should damage the area necessary, and hypersensitivity after should allow me to repair and localize the damage.” he says. “I made a chart of where the injection should be.”

  
I find the syringe and chart on a nearby desk, marveling that I didn’t notice before. Sneaky little creep.

  
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I frown. “You don’t have to please Junko, you know. I’m going to figure her out soon, and all this will be over. We could work on healing your memories.”

  
Kamukura blinks. “I’d have thought you would understand better than anyone else. There’s no escaping Enoshima. We’re all just playing along. She taps into something deeper than emotion, deeper than logic. She manipulates love and our drive to despair. This is a Freudian theory that seems applicable here- the similarities of his death drive and this sensation of despair Enoshima thrives off of are too large to be ignored.”

  
“If it’s just an issue of out-of-control id, I can’t save her. It’s more than just misplaced passions. She has a problem and I can save her.” I insist, trying not to get angry.

  
Kamukura exhales, eyes unfocused and looking upwards. “Perhaps. Either way, the end is likely the same.”

  
“You’re wrong. I’m going to save her.” I rub alcohol into Kamukura’s arm a bit forcefully, preparing an IV with solution he brought. I’m not a nurse so I’m not questioning what he wants to knock himself out with. “And I can save you too once I figure you out.”

  
“Why would you want to?” he asks, and I’m not sure which part of my statement he’s asking about. I’m not sure I want to answer, either, and have to explain either why I love Junko or why I feel like I need to save the boy with long hair and an interesting brain.

  
He takes the IV from me, sliding it into his arm easily. “Thank you, Matsuda.”

  
The surgery is a minor one, involving a small incision and a small hole drilled so the needle can access the correct region of the brain. It doesn’t take more than an hour, and I get the sneaking suspicion Kamukura isn’t completely knocked out for this. That would make sense, but it’s disorienting for me.

  
After I finish, I sit on my bed and read bad manga until he starts moving again. It doesn’t take long, just a few chapters and he’s reaching up to his head and the haphazardly wound bandage I left there.

  
“It’s a lot better now.” he says, voice louder than before. I look up, always interested in the minor behavioral changes altering the brain brings. Kamukura sits up, pulling the rubber band out of his hair before anything else, and knowing where his priorities lie is kind of reassuring.

  
“Your head?”

  
He nods slowly. “And the memories are dissolving. Perhaps everything will be easier now.”

  
“Will it?” I ask absently, still partially absorbed in manga.

  
“Yes.” he sounds confident about this, and it startles me a bit. “I should go now. Thank you for your assistance.”

  
I nod slightly. “Come back sometime and let me play with your brain.”

  
He dresses quickly, not meeting my eyes. “Perhaps, though I doubt our conversations would be interesting now. I likely know more about the brain than you do.”

  
“Eh, sure. But I’m not a pretentious long haired bastard.” I offer. “Besides, you have to stick around to see how I’ll save Junko.”

  
“Pretent- you misunderstand.” Kamukura starts, but I hand him his shoes and open the lab door in a swift movement.

  
“Best of luck, Kamukura.” I say, letting one of the most interesting people I’ve met walk away without a word.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking some liberties with Kamukura's personality, but remember this is the character that recreated a digital approximation of someone he hated for the purpose of revenge and seeking resolution to his past. He seems attached to Junko, primarily because his first emotional memories are caused by her and she continues to influence everything he does in canon. Clearly there's more to him than boredom and I personally love the Klüver–Bucy syndrome headcanon for his personality (as this describes his lack of emotional affect, attachment to Junko and those in charge of the Hope Cultivation Project, and amnesia). 
> 
> Anyways, my Tumblr is cephalopodwatcher, talk to me about neurological/gender/plot/relationship headcanons and theories!


End file.
